Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 85787 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85787 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
She looked up from her phone. “You leaving early?”
“Not early. On time for a change.”
“What would possess you to do that? Having a studly husband at home with a baby and carrying around a second one yourself?” She pfft at me with a smile. “You have your priorities all screwed up.”
“I have to stop and pick up something for Brody for our anniversaries on the way home, too.”
“You two really sticking to the traditional present crap?”
We’d been married on the anniversary of the day we met, so we had two things to celebrate each year. “Yep. The first year is paper. Second is cotton.”
“Sounds horrible. What did Brody get you? Cotton maternity bloomers and a napkin?”
I laughed. “No idea. We haven’t exchanged gifts yet.”
On the way home, I stopped at the store to pick up a last-minute gift. I had written Brody a love letter and bought him a cotton shirt that I thought would bring out the color of his eyes. But there had been a change of plans since this morning.
The house was unusually quiet when I walked in. Only Tank, our ridiculously large Neapolitan-mastiff, came to greet me at the door. “Alright, boy.” He wagged his tail, and I had to catch the small table near the door he almost knocked over. “Calm down. Where are the crazy man and your sister?”
Dropping my leather laptop case and bag on the floor in the entryway, I slipped off my shoes and headed into the kitchen. It was empty, but there were three yellow sticky notes on the fridge and a small box on the island counter.
Phrase, the first note read in big letters. My husband had taken to watching game shows during the day in the offseason.
The second note read: Hint (since you suck at games) What you are to me.
Underneath, on a separate sticky note, he had drawn an arrow, and below it read: Go to the couch already.
Smiling, I walked to the living room. Brody had piled all the throw pillows on the tufted ottoman. I picked up each one and laid them out on the rug.
D was embroidered in script on a red throw pillow. I used to have a matching M, too, for Maddox. But Brody had thrown that out and replaced it with the next pillow the week after we got married: E.
M—This was one I’d never seen before. A new addition to our hodgepodge collection. It was a soft-pink pillow—stuffed with, of course, traditional anniversary cotton—and monogrammed with our daughter’s first initial.
Y—Another new addition. Fluffy, pink and embroidered to match the new M. Both of our mothers’ names were Yvonne, which was why we had picked it for our daughter’s middle name.
B—For Brody. I had added the red embroidered pillow when we moved in together.
LOVE. The rectangular brown pillow Drew had given to me when we were just teenagers. The pillow was tattered and patched and even though it reminded me of him, it also served as a daily reminder of the incredible man I’d married. After Brody and I moved in together, I’d tucked the pillow away in the closet. It felt odd to display a gift another man had given me. One day I came home and found it on the couch. When Brody found me looking at it, he’d wrapped his arms around my waist and told me Drew had helped make me into the women he fell in love with and that the pillow didn’t have to hide.
D-E-M-Y-B-LOVE
I rearranged each pillow to spell out the message Brody had left me until I solved the puzzle.
MY BELOVED
I seriously had the best husband in the world. The first time he told me that any man who bought me roses wasn’t worth my time because I deserved something unique, I thought he was being verbose. But the man had backed up all of his words with actions since the day I met him. His gifts had always been as thoughtful and unique as he was.
If it was even possible, my heart swelled a little more in my chest as I set out to find my family upstairs. When I arrived at our bedroom door, I heard Brody talking to the baby; he hadn’t heard me come up. I stepped back from the doorway and listened to him changing his daughter’s diaper.
“You stink, you know, baby girl. Your mother, she always smells amazing. That’s probably why you’re going to have a little sister or brother barely a year younger than you.”
I covered my mouth to stifle my giggle.
“What’s with this powder? I can never get this stuff to come out.” I heard him smack the plastic bottle a few times and then, “Shit.” I pictured him fanning away a plume of white talc.
The tearing of the plastic tape sounded on one side and then the other. Marlene giggled.